


The Ramblings and Doings of an Insane and Desperate Man

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode: s07e13 The Cold, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2019-05-30 09:17:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15093749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Post-ep to "The Cold" that's going to take on a life of its own and fill the the weeks between the kiss and the sex





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

  
Author's notes: This is nothing but fluff. Fluffy fluff even. I won't even pretend that there's anything remotely serious about this fic, because that would be a lie and you'd know it upon reading the first two paragraphs. This is just my take on how Josh got back into Donna's good graces after fumbling the key exchange.  


* * *

I get got up early the next morning. Not that I’d been asleep. Because how can you sleep when the woman you’ve wanted to sleep with for the better part of a decade gives you the key to her hotel room and you don’t go? What kind of rest is a man supposed to get after that kind of in-your-face proof that you’re not actually a man at all. A small, frightened boy… yes. A man… No.

And how are you supposed to sleep when the split second hesitation on your part (which of course wasn’t due to a lack of desire but instead to what you were hoping was stealth and secrecy) that caused you to miss said key continues playing in your mind over and over and over like the instant replay of the left fielder who misses the pop fly in the bottom of the ninth in the final game of the World Series, letting the runner on second score and giving the other team the win? 

See what it’s come down to? Run-on sentences and the ramblings of an insane man… 

I could go on of course. There are countless other things that will continue to plague me until my death. What was it about my feet that wouldn’t allow me to get up and follow her into the hotel? What was it about my mouth that didn’t tell Edie and Ronna to ‘give me the fucking key already?’ What was it about my fingers that couldn’t figure out how to call her cell or her room and explain the situation? Why did I just sit there, nursing my beer, listening to the idiots who work for me droll on and on about their first trip to the White House, wondering what in the hell had just happened? 

But see, I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to point out to myself that my idiocy last night was reminiscent of a really bad television show who’s only goal is to keep the hero from getting the heroine, regardless of what unrealistic and ridiculous lengths they have to go to in order to do so. I’m not going to do that at all. I’m simply going to repair the damage and move forward. 

So… as I said, I get up early the next morning. Early, early. Not pansy-ass early. Not six o’clock or even five o’clock early. No. We’re talking 4:30 early my friends. 4:30am. Why, you ask? Because the cars are coming to the hotel at 5:30 to take us to the airport so we can fly to California and make something of this national tie we’ve got going. And I… master romancer and putty in the hands of one Donnatella Moss, am going to get Donna her very favorite coffee from her very favorite coffee shop for the trip.

So I get up, I rush through a shower and throw on a fairly clean suit, throw the remainder of my belongings into my suitcase in random order, and head downstairs to catch a cab to Becky’s Café, on nearly the exact opposite end of the district from the hotel. 

I hit my first roadblock of this mission upon arriving to the café and finding that it doesn’t open until 5:30. No matter, I anticipated such challenges and am ready to beg if need be. It turns out need does be and I completely luck out that two of the young female employees are hard-core democrats and possible members of my fan club. An autograph and a few pictures later, they agree to help me.

So at 5:05am, I leave the café with a large cup of their house dark roast of the day and two incredible looking honey croissants that I was assured would win the heart of any woman. It’s not until I’m on my way back to the hotel when my lack of sleep starts catching up with me and it occurs to me that I should’ve gotten myself a cup of coffee as well. Now, I’m not proud of this, but it takes only a few minutes to talk myself into having just a sip of Donna’s, which is when I learn that Becky’s Café does indeed have the best coffee in DC. And it’s only a few minutes after that when I decide that Donna really only needs one croissant. She is, after all, very cautious of her figure.

I arrive back at the hotel with eight minutes to spare, and find Donna in the continental breakfast area sitting with Lou and Ronna. I fight the urge to give Ronna an evil look and head their way.

Now this is tricky. I can’t very well apologize for last night’s blunder in front of these two, but I also can’t wait all day to give her the coffee and croissant. It’s not gonna have the same meaning at four o’clock this afternoon, you know what I mean?

So I act casual. As if I do these, dare I say heroic, things every day. I plaster on a smile and say good morning to Bram and Otto at another table, then walk up to Donna’s table and say good morning to them as I prepare to set the coffee and bag down in front of her. 

Ronna looks at Donna and says, “He’ll know,” then looks up at me and asks me if the Mets played last night. 

This stops me and talk of baseball distracts me from the moment at hand. Donna wants to know if the Mets played last night? I look at her a little strangely. The Mets lost in the playoffs two weeks ago. Why is she bringing it up now? It’s not like she planned to watch the Mets game last night; she planned to have sex with me. Right? I mean, I’m understanding that correctly, right? She wasn’t inviting me up to watch…

Oh…. My…. God… 

Donna thinks I skipped out on sex with her to watch the Mets play????? I mean… I love the Mets, but we’re talking about sex here. And not just any sex. Sex with Donna sex. Maybe if it was sex with someone else. Or maybe if it was sex with Donna but it was the World Series… no, I don’t think so, not even the World Series. Well, maybe the final game of the world series… Snap out of it Josh. “No, they didn’t play last night.”

“Just wondering,” Donna says weekly with a look of mortification on her face. Has she ever seen herself in the mirror? She really thought… shit, this is going to take more than a cup of coffee and a croissant. 

“I didn’t…” I pause and put the coffee down, then turn and pull up a chair from another table, wedging it in between Donna and Ronna. It doesn’t actually fit, so I have to pause and actually push Ronna’s chair, with her it in, out of the way a little bit to make room for myself. Ronna gives me a look and laughs at my audacity, but I ignore her and sit down, looking pointedly at Donna. “I didn’t watch any television last night.” 

She gives me a look that says that statement didn’t help at all and suddenly I’m a schmuck who didn’t have anything better to do and still didn’t take the key. “That’s too bad,” she says flippantly. “ER was fanta…” she trails off as she notices the coffee cup. Shit. I forgot about that. “You went to Becky’s?” she asks in a tiny voice.

“Yeah,” I say, pushing the cup towards me. Then I go to get the bag with the croissant, but it’s gone. I look on the table, on the floor by my feet, inconspicuously down at Ronna’s lap… Finally I turn around and see that I left it on the table I took the chair from. I pick it up and put it down in front of her. “Here.”

“What’s Becky’s?” Ronna asks.

“Becky’s Café,” Donna says in awe as she opens the bag and looks inside of it. “It’s in Manor Park.”

“It’s her favorite,” I say smugly. 

“What were you doing up in Manor Park?” Lou asks.

I look up at her like a deer caught in headlights. Shit. I glance at Ronna and Donna. They’re looking at me too. “I… I uh… had to do something.” 

This is why I should never be asked to lie for my country. I absolutely suck at it. The upside is that Donna’s smiling a little bit. She knows why I was in Manor Park. And while I don’t necessarily want Ronna and Lou to know about the plan, I do want Donna to know. Not that there’s a plan. Plans need planning… and titles. This is just… well, a series of steps, which are yet to be determined, to ensure that Donna and I have sex. And other stuff, of course, not just sex. Oral sex too. And more kissing like yesterday. And you know… love and conversation and stuff like that. 

Donna takes the lid off the coffee, which makes no sense to me, but is, I’ve learned over the years, a Donna Moss thing. She loves the smell of good coffee and claims the lid gets in the way.

“You’re giving Donna your half-empty coffee?” Lou asks with a laugh.

What’s she talking about?

Donna pushes the coffee cup back to me. “Josh, you don’t have to give me your coffee.”

“I didn’t. I… it’s for you.”

“But…”

I follow her eyes down into the cup. Shit. “I might have had a little,” I say with a wince. I thought I just had a few sips, what the hell????

“You drank her coffee?”

I snap my head at Lou. “You’re not helping.” This isn’t good. I took a forty minute roundtrip cab ride to get her coffee and then drank almost half of it? I suck at this wooing crap. No wonder I don’t usually do it.

Lou continues laughing but stands up. “I’m taking my horrible but full coffee and waiting outside for the cars.”

Ronna leaves with her and the table grows quiet. I nudge the coffee cup and Donna finally takes a drink.

“How is it?” I ask hopefully.

She closes her eyes for just a second and says dreamily. “Delicious.”

This makes me smile and I nudge the bag next. “I brought you a croissant too.”

She smiles and pulls it out of the bag, then takes a bite and moans. Yes! “Don’t these usually come in two?” No.

“Do they?” I ask in a very guilty and squeaky voice.

She smiles slyly and takes another bite. She’s so on to me.


	2. The Ramblings and Doings of an Insane and Desperate Man

I got into a little trouble yesterday. Well… the day before that too. And… ok pretty much most days. But that’s beside the point. The point is, I got into a little trouble yesterday with the non-Donna women.

We were walking into a building and I, being suave and romantic and desperate to get another chance at the key exchange with Donna, held the door open for her. Now let me just state for the record that I’m a door holder. I am. I’m a door holder, a hand on the back guider, a complimenter, a flower giver, and an occasion rememberer. My mother raised me right. But see… I’m trying to be extra nice to Donna, to go beyond the typical chivalry I show to most women. So while I normally would’ve held the door for Edie as well, yesterday I let it shut in her face. It hit her in the nose. The nose bled. 

This, of course, ruined any attempt at being noticed as the key worthy man I’m attempting to be, because Donna was so worried about Edie and her nose that my door holding bravado went completely unseen. I tried to hold another door for Donna later, but it turned out she wasn’t going inside, so I just looked like an idiot. Then I held the door for her when a bunch of us went into a restaurant for dinner and a hundred thousand old women came walking out using canes and walkers and bitching about the price of a cup of coffee. By the time I’d been able to let go of the door (because I’m trying to get a president elected, so I can’t give a bloody nose to an old woman) and got into the restaurant, everyone had been seated and I ended up on the complete opposite end of the table as Donna. Then I looked like an ass when I forced Bram to switch seats with me because… and don’t make fun, I had to think quickly… I needed to be closer to the kitchen so I could make sure they didn’t spit into my food.

Wooing isn’t easy, my friends.

But today is a new day and with it brings new opportunities. This is 5 DAKEF. (days after key exchange fumble.) I was hoping to get another shot at the key exchange 1 DAKEF, but apparently a half cup of coffee and a honey croissant aren’t enough to make up for the shame of being turned down when giving your room key to someone, even if it does come from Becky’s. I’ve learned over the last five days that hair complimenting, outfit complimenting, and desert sharing aren’t enough either. And with yesterday’s casualties... well, let’s just say my hopes weren’t high. 

Yet still I practice for the day I triumph. I put my key or keycard onto a table then practice grabbing it in a quick and stealthy manner. I knocked over a glass of diet coke yesterday.

I’ve been thinking about Donna’s lips for the last five days. Oh, who am I kidding? I’ve been thinking about Donna’s lips for the last decade. But for the last five days, they’ve been more distracting than usual. 1 DAKEF, Lou and I were talking about media buys on the plane to California, and Donna was reading something across the aisle from us. She very innocently had the tip of a pen in her mouth and my lips literally tingled. That’s what it’s come down to? Girly words? Then on 3 DAKEF, I watched helplessly as she reapplied lip gloss. I was hard for an hour. If this key thing’s going to take a while, I’m at least going to have to kiss her again. I hope she’s ok with that.

We’re spending the afternoon in San Francisco today. One of the few places in the country democrats don’t have to campaign, and here we are campaigning. Vinick and his stupid moderate agenda. Just once, one measly time, I’d like to run the campaign of a sure thing. 

Anyway, we’re in San Francisco, home of Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge and… hell, I don’t know. I’ve never had to campaign here before. We’re having lunch with the very popular Mayor and his staff, and then we’re speaking at a rally in Golden Gate Park. After that, it’s off to Pennsylvania and then I’m back in DC while they hit the Midwest.

During the congressman’s speech at lunch, I slip to the drug store across the street. I’m getting pretty desperate in terms of toiletries; if it wasn't for the complimentary shampoo at most hotels, I would’ve been washing my hair with hand soap for the last three weeks. And I borrowed Bram’s toothpaste yesterday and today. And Otto’s shaving cream. When Donna was my assistant, that never would’ve happened, but that train has left the station and dwelling on things like that only makes me melancholy.

It’s just that… we were a team. And yes, it looked to others like I led that team, but that’s not really true. We both played our parts. And yes, she’d outgrown her place on the team, but that didn’t mean the team could do without her. I understand, I do. I know why she left. It’s just that I didn’t want anybody else on my team and it hurt to know she could so easily abandon it.

But I’m past all that. She’s back, and once we get this key exchange down, I’m going to make damn sure she never leaves again. A promise, a ring, begging… whatever it takes. She’s not leaving again; I couldn’t take it. See what I said about the melancholy thing? I’m a complete mess. 

So anyway… I start loading my arms down with Crest, Suave, and Gillette, and there in front of me are the Trogans. I hate buying condoms. Some men see condom buying as their way to make it clear that they are indeed having sex. I was like that in college, strutting into the store with the guys, loudly declaring that I needed to stop by the condom aisle, carefully deciding on which ones to get as if I, at the ripe old age of 19, had any idea what kind of condom would best please a woman. I’m older now though, and in your forties, buying condoms is like wearing a neon sign that says I can’t commit. That I can’t hold down a steady relationship. That there’s not a woman in the world who would agree to let me father her child.

Still, when Donna sees fit to give me a second chance at the key exchange, I’m going to need them, so I pick up a box a box of twelve and head down the aisle. I take about six steps before turning around and replacing them with a box of 36. I have a feeling that once I get to have sex with Donna, I’m going to go through these quickly.

Once I have my hands full with shampoo, shaving cream, tooth paste, condoms, a bag of Doritos, and a diet coke, I head to the check-out counter. This is when the mission gets foiled. I’m in line behind two men who are holding hands, more power to you, and I’m looking at a book in a display on the counter called Alcatraz: A Definitive History of the Penitentiary Years, which I’m thinking would have all kinds of trivia crap that Donna would love, when she walks into the drugstore with Ronna. My head immediately snaps to the condoms in my hand and I begin to panic.

They see me and walk towards me, and as they get closer, my panic reaches a new level and I turn quickly around as if that alone will shield me from their vision. Yes, I know, I’m an idiot. It takes less than a second to realize this isn’t going to work, so I turn back around and in seeing no other options, drop everything in my arms. 

“Good job, slick,” Donna says as they approach me.

I act as though it was an accident and bend down to pick up my things. The cap on the shampoo broke, of course, and shampoo is oozing out onto the carpeted floor of the drug store. I set it upright on the counter and go for misdirection. “Is something going on with the lunch?”

“No,” Ronna says. “We just needed a… are those yours?” she asks with a chuckle.

I look up at her and she’s gesturing to the condoms I had attempted to kick out of the way. My eyes widen to the point that I fear one might actually pop right out of the socket.

“I… no.” I’m shaking my head furiously. Furiously, people. Furiously. A quick glace at Donna confirms that she is indeed paying attention and is shocked.

“Cause… they look like…”

“They must’ve already been there,” I blurt out. Donna’s still staring at them.

Ronna looks up at me with a grin. “Josh Lyman, I had no idea…”

I cut her off. “I’m not. I… they’re not…” 

She bends down and picks them up, putting them on top of the pile of things in my arms. “36… someone’s feeling pretty sure of himself.”

Please, someone shoot me dead right now.

I put them down on the counter in front of the Alcatraz book. “I have to get some more shampoo,” I mumble, walking towards the health and beauty aisle. They follow.

“The park is only twenty minutes from here, so we’re going to have plenty of time. We might want to get in a quick press conference about lunch with the mayor,” Donna says as we walk. She and I are having a strange week. We’re good in a group, but things are a bit awkward when it’s just the two of us. I think it would go away if I had the guts to say, ‘hey, how ‘bout we try that key thing again,’ but I’ve never had guts like that and I don’t think we should count on it at this stage in the game. So for now, we’re sticking with mostly business subjects.

“The mayor has a hugely effective program for the homeless. Afterwards, ask him if they spoke about it.”

She nods as we reach the shampoo aisle and I grab another bottle of Suave. 

“Head and Shoulders,” she says to me.

I look over at her appalled. “I don’t have dandruff!”

She shakes her head and switches my Suave with Head and Shoulders. “Because you use Head and Shoulders.”

“Hmm…” Ronna says as I stare at Donna. “The condoms, right in this row you were in a few minutes ago. What are the chances?” She’s having so much fun with this.

“How about that. Condoms at a drug store,” I say sarcastically, while giving her a look of death. Donna looks down and smiles. Glad to know she’s over the shock.

Both Donna and Ronna grab a few things; hairspray, special womeny razors, lotion...

“Hmm… condoms… do I need condoms…” 

“I’m leaving now.” I take my things and head towards the checkout. They walk with me and Ronna grabs a People magazine and puts her things on the counter.

Once she pays, Donna puts her things down. I, trying to overcome the humiliation of being caught buying condoms by the campaign assistant and the woman I hope to use them with, put my things down as well and then toss my credit card on top of all of it. Donna picks up the Alcatraz book and reads the back cover, and when the guy finishes ringing up our things, I take it out of her hand and give it to him. She smiles at me as he rings it up and puts it into the bag. Then she looks over at Ronna, who’s standing by the door waiting for us. Without looking back at me, she slides the condoms over to the cashier and walks away to join her.


	3. The Ramblings and Doings of an Insane and Desperate Man

I think most unmarried men, and many married men for that matter, spend a large portion of their lives feeling sexually frustrated. If I took the time to sit down and figure out when the last time I had sex was, two years and two weeks ago, the night before my forty-second birthday and the infamous Carrick mess, it would be depressing. So I’m careful not to sit down and figure that out.

Still, even without counting the 744 long, dreadful days since I last had sex, I can tell that my frustration level is high. Very, very high. It’s like my sexual frustration and my campaign frustration have melded together into some sort of impenetrable barrier of stress. There’s the election thing, the Donna thing, and the White House sabotaging my every move thing. And on top of that, I’ve got a box of condoms taunting me in their non-use.

Not that the box is in tact with its 36 condoms. The first thing I did when I was alone with them (and isn’t that what every man wants to be; alone with condoms) was take one out and put it into my wallet. Then I put three more in with it. I admit I may have high hopes for the night I finally warrant another shot at the key exchange. Of course, it’s been so damn long since I used one that I might ruin a few trying to get them on.

Anyway… it’s 13 DAKEF. I spent 7 through 12 DAKEF in DC while Donna stayed on the trail with the congressman, going to Ohio, Iowa, Texas, Florida, Ohio again, California, Washington, New Hampshire, and Illinois. I thought this wooing crap was hard when we were in the same place, but doing it from a few time zones away has been nearly impossible. For instance, how was I supposed to know when I had room service deliver a late dinner to her hotel room 10 DAKEF that Lou and Bram were going to be there working late with her? How can I be blamed for that blunder? We’d been on the phone and she’d mentioned that she’d been too busy for lunch; I thought I was being thoughtful and kind and all that other crap women want. Instead, I outed us to Lou. Probably not Bram though; he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

And then there was the mess of yesterday’s phone call, a conversation that will haunt me until I die. I’ll be ninety-five and senile and still remember every word of that conversation.

“You’re with the congressman now?” I asked her after we discussed a few small last minute schedule changes.

“I am.”

“He’s going to focus on minimum wage increase, education, and health care reform today?”

“He is.”

“It’s Illinois Donna. He needs to focus on minimum wage increase, education and health care reform. And he needs to look relaxed. And confident.”

“He looks relaxed and confident,” she said, going along with my little rant because she adores me against her better judgment. 

“Ok,” I sighed, knowing it was time to hang up and let her work. “The governor’s stumping with him?” Or maybe I could ask one more question.

“Yes, we’re meeting him at the first rally.”

“Ok.” 

“Anything else?”

“No.” Damn it. 

“Ok. I’ll talk to...”

I cut her off. “I… tomorrow I…” Why, oh why did I keep going? “You know I’m coming to New York tomorrow. Just for the day.”

“I know.”

“I thought… if we get done early… or, not early, but with time before my flight back, I thought maybe we could… you know…”

“Josh…”

“I don’t know, get some dinner or a drink or… desert or something. Just the two…”

That’s when I heard chuckling of the male variety.

“Donna?” I squeaked out.

“You’re on speakerphone, Josh,” she said in a somewhat mortified voice.

“What?” I nearly shrieked.

“I was writing down the schedule changes, and…” 

“Hi Josh.”

“Congressman,” I said in a choking voice.

“How are you today, Josh?”

“Fine sir. You’re uh… you’re going to focus on minimum wage increase, education, and… uh… uh…”

“Health care reform.”

“Right.”

“Yes.”

“Ok then.”

“We’ll talk to you later, Josh.”

“Yes sir.”

“And Donna will get back to you about dinner tomorrow night.”

“That was… see, I was...”

“Goodbye Josh.”

“Goodbye sir.”

Then I hung up and beat my head repeatedly against my desk.

********** 

So now I’m in New York, where Donna is taunting me in that big blue eyes, pouty mouth, innocent face, amazing at her job, long legs, lip gloss wearing, pen cap chewing way of hers. How she can be so calm while condoms aren’t being used is beyond me. 

The congressman thankfully seems to have totally forgotten yesterday’s conversation. I fear it will come back up at an inopportune time.

As for Donna, sweet caring beautiful Donna, she had a cup of Starbucks and three Advil waiting for me when the cab dropped me off at the first rally site this morning. How do you not love a woman like that? But even more important than Starbucks, our conversations run smooth and playful throughout the day. The ‘I offered you sex and you turned me down’ awkwardness seems gone. I think the condom purchase, as disastrous as that went, let her know that we’re on the same page. Today it’s all about hands on the back and brushing lint off shoulders and standing a little too close for the typical working relationship. 

But it’s also one big blur; the congressman opens the NY Stock Exchange, has a rally in Central Park, a meeting with the DNC, a town hall type meeting with students at NYU, lunch with the governor and mayor, a tour of the World Trade Center Site, a meeting with the teachers’ union, and an appearance on the David Letterman Show. There are a lot of hand shakes, a lot of photo ops, several mini press briefings, and a rock the vote event. What there isn’t is dinner alone with Donna. Instead, there’s pizza from a local pizza place that’s unbelievably fabulous. But when I see Donna looking at me as though she’s afraid I’m going to collapse on the spot, I have salad instead of a fourth piece. The things you do for sex… and love, of course.

So the day passes quickly and before I know it, it’s time to leave for the airport to catch the redeye back to DC so I can go into the office and work for a few hours before going home to sleep for a few hours and then going back into the office. I know, it’s an exciting life. But that’s beside the point. The point is, I’m standing in the hospitality room of the Marriott we’re using as headquarters today giving some last minute instructions to Lou while Donna talks on the phone in the corner, and I suddenly notice that for the first time all day, we’re nearly alone together. So I do the only rational thing a man can do in this situation. 

“Leave.”

Lou looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I mean…” Shit. “I need you to… go find Otto. Tell him… tell him that…”

“You want me to leave so you can be alone with Donna for a second before you go.”

“What? No,” I shriek loudly before looking down at the floor. I keep my head down and look up at her sheepishly. “Yes,” I say meekly.

She shrugs like she couldn’t possibly care any less that she already does and leaves, and I watch her go, knowing for the first time that I’ve found the female Toby. It’s… comforting in a way.

Once she’s gone, I go over and stand in front of Donna. She looks at me and ends her conversation, probably thinking I’m going to say something campaign related. Instead, I’m going to say completely non-campaign related things, and Lou knows it. I figure it’s best not to tell Donna this small fact.

“That was the Erika Griffith,” she says when she hangs up. “She wanted to give me a heads up that Vinick changed his schedule. He’s going south.”

I nod. “Good. We can’t win down there anyway.”

“We might want to hit Arkansas and Tennessee, maybe Louisiana. We’re still in those.”

“Yeah.”

She gestures towards the door. “I’ll…” 

“I was going to kiss you,” I say, cutting her off. Just call me Romeo.

This stops her dead in her tracks. “What?” she asks completely flabbergasted. 

“I was going to… I am… I am going to, if it’s ok…” I’m a fucking mess.

She smiles slightly and takes a step back to me. “I thought you said it was inappropriate.”

“I did.”

“Yet you want to do it again?”

“See, when I said that… what I really meant was...”

Her smile widens. “Don’t be mad.”

“Right. And…”

“Can we do that again.”

“Yes.”

“The dimples and the bouncing kind of gave you away.” She glances towards the door and back at me. “When are you leaving for your flight?”

“Five minutes ago.”

“Then you’d better hurry.”

“But! I wanted to…”

“I meant with that.”

“Right.”

I stare at her for another second before she gives me the ‘well?’ look, then I put first one and then the other hand on her waist and she wraps her arms around my neck and it’s all very fifth grade-ish and we just kind of stand there like that. 

“You’re not very good at this part,” she whispers.

“The kissing?” I ask with wide eyes.

She smiles. “The pre-kissing.”

“Oh. But the… the kissing…”

She chuckles and shakes her head at me. “You don’t have any problems with that part,” she mumbles, leaning in and kissing me.


	4. The Ramblings and Doings of an Insane and Desperate Man

I’m not at all worried about tomorrow. A lesser man might be worried about Jon Bon Jovi putting the moves on his would-be/will-be girlfriend, but I know Donna and I know her type. And her type isn’t some guy in his mid-forties who thinks his bad hair is some sort of trade-mark. Some guy who’d just as soon be living on a bus out of a suitcase than in a home with a wife and kids. Some guy who thinks he’s important just because teenage girls scream his name.

Wait a minute…

Shit.

Ok, let me start over. I’m a little worried about tomorrow. Jon Bon Jovi’s going to be stumping with us for the day and it’s recently come to my attention that he might be Donna’s type.

It’s 18 DAKEF. 18 days since I inadvertently told Donna I didn’t want to have sex with her. I can still barely fathom doing such an asinine thing, but the lack of sex proves it. What’s worse is that even with all my work over the last 18 days, there’s been one kiss. One measly kiss. I so suck at this.

Not only that, but there are only three days until Election Day. We’ve got tomorrow with Jon, one more day, and then we’re there. Between the lack of sex, the election so close, and now the thought of Donna as one of Bon Jovi’s groupies, I’m tightly wound. 

And to top if off, all of this plagues my mind while I’m in a meeting I’m supposed to be paying attention to. 

“We want to work with the sun on the last day. Start east and head west.”

I nod. “Pennsylvania, Florida, Ohio, California… end in Texas.”

“We’re in Pennsylvania now,” Bram says. Gee Bram, thanks for the info.

“We need to come back,” Lou tells him.

“We should go to Massachusetts and Iowa one more time,” Donna says, drawing my attention back to her and sex with her.

I nod. “And Washington if we get a chance.”

“We can’t get to eight places in one day,” Lester says. 

“Fine,” I say sighing. “Cut out Washington and Ohio.”

He nods. “I’ll set it up.”

Lou leans back and stretches. “We done?”

“Yeah.”

She stands up. “9:30. I’m going to the bar. Anyone care to join me?” Lester and Edie agree, but Donna declines, claiming she’s tired. A minute later, we’re alone. 

“Two more days,” she says with a sigh.

“Yeah.”

“Bon Jovi tomorrow.”

“Pff…”

She raises an eyebrow. “You have a problem with Jon Bon Jovi?”

“No.” Damn, that was almost squeak-like.

“Kay…”

“But I heard his last album flopped.”

“No you didn’t,” she scoffs.

I shrug non-committally. 

“Lou’s excited.”

“She is?” I ask skeptically. Lou, excited about a rock star? Yeah, right.

“It could be embarrassing.”

“Are you?”

“Excited to meet Bon Jovi?”

“I heard he’s an ass in person.”

She shakes her head. “No you didn’t.”

Again I shrug non-committally. “Hungry?”

“Not really. You?”

“I could eat.”

“But you’re not hungry.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

She shakes her head. “Josh…”

“Hey! I switched to Diet Coke!”

“That was a year ago!”

“Still…”

She chuckles and drops the subject. “You done for the night?” 

“I was gonna…” I hold up the numbers and she ever so slightly shakes her head. Why would she… Holy crap, this is it!!! That was the key hand off!! “…leave these here. Right here on the table. Because I’m all done for the night.” 

She smiles. “What do you know? I’m all done for the night too.” Key exchange successful!

“Really?” I ask, playing the part. “Maybe we should… do something together.”

She pretends to ponder this, putting a finger up to her lips. “I guess we could probably find something to do.”

At that, I stand up and walk to the door, holding it open for her. She grabs her bottle of water and I lead her out of the room. “I know! Let’s find something to do in my room.”

She shakes her head as we walk towards the elevator. “My room. People are less likely to interrupt… whatever we find to do there.”

“Yes, but my wallet’s in my room.”

She hits the elevator button and looks at me for just a second before she understands what I’m saying. “Your room it is then.”

It gets quiet and we wait in silence for the elevator for what seems like a decade. 

“You’re fidgeting.”

I look over at her. “No I’m… yes I am.”

She smiles. “Yes.”

What’s going on with the elevator? Ten more seconds and I’m dragging her to the stairwell.

“I’m… anxious. To find something to do.” 

This makes her smile again. “I can see that.”

It gets quiet again and I look up at the ceiling while she drinks from her water. “I’ve been practicing,” I tell her a century later while still waiting FOR THE ELEVATOR.

Now she’s choking on the water. Why is she choking on the water? There’s no choking allowed. We can’t have sex while she’s choking! 

“You… you’ve been…”

“On my own. Are you ok?”

She stares at me for a long time with a very strange look on her face. “You’ve been… please say you didn’t just tell me that you…” she trails off and gestures to me.

“That I what?” 

Her eyes widen and she looks down at my dick. I’ve been practicing alone? Oh shit! “No! Not that! The key thing. I’ve been practicing the key thing!”

“The key thing?”

“The key thing. Not the other thing. I don’t…” she holds a hand and I stop suddenly.

“You’ve been practicing the key thing?”

“In case you…”

“Oh.” She looks at me for another second and then we both stare straight ahead. Great, now it’s awkward. “Ok.”

“Yeah.”

Where’s the fucking elevator????????????????


	5. The Ramblings and Doings of an Insane and Desperate Man

I’m ready to beg. Literally get down on my hands and knees and beg her to have sex with me. 

It’s 20 DAKEF. Tomorrow’s Election Day for crying out loud. I’ve now spent three presidential campaigns wanting to sleep with Donna and haven’t been successful even once! What the hell’s wrong with me?

Two nights ago was a complete disaster. Even worse than the key fiasco if that’s at all possible. It took all day yesterday to recover before I could even attempt to bring the woo again. Donna picturing me jerking off, the vomit in the elevator, the congressman interrupting… yeah, a night dreams are made of.

I’ll give us this. We tried to work through it. Awkward as hell or not, we were going to have sex if it killed us.

We got to my room out of breath but thankfully no longer focused on my ‘practicing alone’ comment. There was no mini-bar, so there was really nothing to do but get to it, yet we stood there awkwardly on opposite sides of the room for a good minute or two trying to make small talk. I finally used the lame excuse of checking out the view from my window to get us back in the same proximity, and after that things went ok for a while.

Until Donna’s breasts…

We were kissing. And I mean kissing. Teeth, tongue, roaming hands… the whole nine yards. We were both still fully clothed, but I was ready to change that. I had her jacket off and was unbuttoning her shirt while completely devouring her neck. Her long, gorgeous, pale, statuesque neck that I’ve dreamt of kissing for nine long, slow, painful years. I pushed the shirt off her shoulders as I moved the kissing back to her mouth. And let me just tell you, this woman can kiss. I think it’s the lips; they’re so pouty. They were made to be sucked into my mouth, I swear. 

So, we were kissing and the shirt was gone and my hands were roaming, and then I bumped into a breast and something happened. Some sort of ‘she’s your assistant’ reflex I’d conditioned myself to have years ago kicked in and I pulled my hands off her like I was playing a game of hot potato. 

Which was precisely when she stopped kissing back. She pulled her head away and looked up at me like I was a lunatic stalker who was going to kill her and stash her body under the bed. 

And then I said perhaps the lamest, stupidest, most childish thing I’ve ever said in my adult life. “You have breasts.” At least I said it quietly.

You can probably picture her eyes widening at that point. If not, believe me when I tell you they did. And then, as if to rub salt into my wound, she laughed.

“You choose now to laugh at me?” 

“I’m sorry, but… you didn’t think I’d have breasts?” she got out between the laughing.

“No! I mean yeah… but…” I flopped down onto the bed. “They’re right there!” I squeaked. “Where I can see them!”

She moved in between my legs as I sat on the bed, which put them right at eye level. “And this is bad?”

I shook my head, staring at them. “Not bad. Just… different.”

She reached down and took my hands, sliding them up her stomach and around her back to the clasp of her bra. Which was very, very sexy. “You’ve never gotten a glimpse?”

A ghost of a smirk played on my lips but I kept my eyes glued to the breasts. “The occasional dress might have been hard to look away from.”

“I noticed,” she whispered, leaning down and kissing me slowly while I undid the clasp and pulled her bra off. 

When she stood back up, I sat there kind of mesmerized. “There they are,” I whispered.

She chuckled again, making them jiggle and me groan. “Yep. There they are.”

So I did the only thing a man can do in that situation. I touched them. Donna’s breasts. I had my hands on Donna’s breasts. Turns out there are perks to not having her as my assistant after all. All this time, I’ve been thinking there was no up side to it.

And they were so close to my mouth. So, so close. But to lean in and kiss them I had to move my hands, and that took a good little while to do. And when I did move them, letting them slide down her sides to rest on her fabulous hips, I leaned forward and…

There was a knock on the fucking door!

We immediately froze, both of our heads snapping to the door. ‘Just stay still, I thought to myself. ‘They’ll go away if you just stay still and quiet.’

“Josh, you still up?” The congressman. Bastard.

At that, Donna took her hands off my shoulders and moved herself and her breasts away from me, reaching down and picking up her bra off the floor where I’d dropped it. I looked back at her as she started putting it on and frantically started shaking my head and mouthing the word no.

“Josh,” she said quietly.

“Shh…” I said, trying to pull the bra out of her hands. Yes, it had come to that. Stealing a woman’s clothing so she couldn’t dress.

She shook her and laughed silently at me. “It’s the congressman. You have to get it.”

“He’ll go away,” I whispered harshly, still trying to gain control of the clothing she was picking up off the floor.

Then my cell phone rang, which the congressman surely heard from just outside my door. 

“The gig is up,” Donna said, pulling the bra from my hands and putting it on.

I sighed and answered the phone. “Congressman. Sorry. I’m… in the middle of changing clothes.”

I told him I’d meet him in the conference room in five minutes and then hung up and sighed. “I hate my job.”

“You love your job,” she said, buttoning the last of her shirt buttons.

“Not right now I don’t.”

She chuckled and headed for the door. I jumped up and followed her. “You’re leaving? I’ll be right back!”

“In two hours.”

“Or ten minutes.”

“You’ve never had a ten minute meeting with the congressman.”

“I’ve never had this kind of incentive.”

She shook her head and smiled at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“But what if I get done and it’s still early?”

She leaned up and kissed me quickly. “Then call me.” And at that, she opened the door and left, taking her breasts with her.

I didn’t get done until 2:15.

**********

So here I sit, two days later, in a bar with my colleagues who I wish would leave so I could make yet another attempt at sex with Donna. And as I said, I’m ready to beg. It seems that whereas I once had myself conditioned to not imagine Donna’s breasts, I can now seem to imagine little else. So if begging is what it takes, begging is what it gets.

Lou’s at the bar, getting us all a drink that she’ll no doubt expect me to pay for. But that’s it, one drink. Then I’m coming up with an excuse and I’m getting Donna out of here and naked. 

Because like I said, it’s 20 DAKEF. And 20 days is too long. And if 20 days is too long, then you know damn well 8 years, nine months, and twelve days is too long. And that’s how long it’s been. 8 years, nine months, and twelve days of not sleeping with Donna. 

That’s enough to drive a man insane.


End file.
